Càrn Bàn & Kenny MacNeill - Gigha

After a snooze on the Singing Sands of Gigha, I started back to the road. After a brief visit to the north pier, which sits precariously on beach boulders, ready to topple at any minute, I noticed a waymarker for the ‘Northern Loop—Càrn Bàn’ path. Long ago, I’d read about Càrn Bàn, a once notable site of Neolithic tombs. I’d also read a description of how to get there, a route that sounded quite difficult. But in the intervening years, a network of walkable and bikeable paths has been created on Gigha, and I was delighted to see that this one went to the site. The path started with a boardwalk over a section of marshy ground, which ended just before the two stunning white-sand beaches of Tràigh nam Beachan. 

A few minutes later, the path came to the Neolithic chambered tombs of Càrn Bàn.

Càrn Bàn is mentioned in John Mercer's Hebridean Islands (1974).

The most evident early Metal Age innovation was to change from collective burial in chambered tombs to individual interment  in small stone-lined graves, with or without a protective cairn of stones. Carn Ban on the N. Gigha coast is a good if now denuded example. First dug into in the eighteenth century, the cairn was then  said  to  be  about  50  feet  across;  it  probably covered seven short cists—average size about 4 feet by  28  inches,  by  20 inches  deep—all  orientated NNW.-SSE. and with much white quartz, often part of early ritual, included in the packing.

TS Muir, in Ecclesiological Notes on some of the Islands of Scotland (1885), describes the site as it was over a hundred years ago.

Still keeping on in nearly the same direction till nearing Cairnban Point, in the north-eastern extremity of the island, you are brought to another place of sepulture, which I rather think the antiquary will regard as the most interesting spot in Gigha. It was almost dark before I got to it, though even with plenty of light I doubt whether I or any one could have seen much to have made anything out of, without no end of going down into holes and digging therein. Things of the kind are not easily described; but conceive scattered over a weird-looking plat so many cyclopean-like cells, cromlechs, kistvaens, or whatever else or otherwise you may call them, each more or less slantingly roofed over with a ponderous slab, and showing, in two or three of them, appearances of passages in all likelihood to underground chambers.

One remaining tomb did have a ‘ponderous’ slab, but many of the stones from the other tombs, along with those of the fifty-foot cairn that covered them, have been taken over the years for building material. You can see them now embedded in many of the field walls in the area. Scattered around the remaining tombs were several large, white quartz stones, thought to have been placed in them as symbols of wealth for the dearly departed.

The path turned southwest from the tombs to traverse the shoulder of Cnoc an t-Sabhail (Barnhill). After cresting a series of low ridges, the path dropped down to the road.

As I started marching south on the tarmac, my weary legs, used to the mushy ground, began to complain. I had seven miles under my belt and had another four to get back to Achamore. So when a car came by, I stuck out my thumb. All I got was a smile as they zoomed by. I realised I had been pointing my thumb towards the sky, so they probably thought I was just giving them a thumbs-up. Five minutes later, another car came by. This time, I held the thumb a bit more horizontally and was given a ride.

As we motored to Ardminish, I took advantage of the encounter to ask a question. One of the things on my Gigha agenda was to meet up with Kenny MacNeill, who had taken me to Càra in 1996, exactly thirty years ago (see Chapter 3 of Firth of Clyde to the Small Isles). I’d corresponded with Kenny in 2021 to ask permission to use a photo of him (below), and I was hoping to see him. But when I asked where he lived, the answer was startling. I was told he’d passed away unexpectedly a few months earlier and was laid to rest in Kilchattan Cemetery. The following photo shows Kenny taking me to Càra in 1996, and on his way to Cara in 2017 (the 2017 image courtesy of Christina Macauley).

Once back at Ardminish, I made my way to Kilchattan. There was only one new grave, covered with dried-up flowers. I assumed it was Kenny’s, as it was marked by a worn tombstone for a MacNeill who died at sea in 1949.

Later that evening, as the sun started dipping into the western sea, I was snoozing on the bench that crowns the viewpoint above the west end of Achamore Gardens. Seemingly out of nowhere, two children, a boy and a girl, dashed by. They stopped at the verge of the hillside, as heavy brambles prevented running down the hill. Only then did they notice me and say hello. Their mother showed up a minute later and apologised for intruding on my nap. “No bother”, I said. “I’m glad for the company”. I asked if they knew Kenny. All three immediately said yes, and the boy mentioned it was always exciting when Kenny brought out his nautical charts.

Rest in peace, Kenny MacNeill. Though I did not know you well, you gave me, and many others, memories of Gigha and Càra that will last forever.

The Singing Sands of Gigha

It was in the spring of 1996 that I first crossed the Doirlinn that connects the small island of Eilean Garbh to Gigha. It is a beautiful place to spend a few hours: a 500-foot-long tombolo, cradled by beaches on each side. The following photo shows these 'twin beaches' on that spring day in '96.

During a stay on Gigha last April, I made a long walk from Achamore to the north end of the island. It was a blazing-hot day, and I started looking for a place to take a snooze around noon. A mile north of Tarbert, a roadside sign brought back that memory from 1996: 'Eilean Garbh Beaches'. My search for a place to snooze had ended. It was time to live in the past—time for a nap on the twin beaches.

Unlike three decades ago, a well-made path led down to the tombolo. From the end of the path, I crossed a short stretch of grassland to the north beach. It was there that things got interesting.

Something I've always done since a visit to a well-known beach on Eigg in 2006 is to scuff my feet whenever I cross a beach. I had not done this when I was on Gigha in 1996, but I did it this time. Usually, nothing happens. But something extraordinary happened this time. A squeaking, almost musical sound arose from the sands with every scuff: the unmistakable sound of singing sands. I’d done a bit of research on singing sands a few years ago and had come across a list of the 33 known musical beaches of the UK and Ireland. Gigha was not on the list. The nearest listed sands lie twenty miles to the west at Tràigh Bhàn on Islay (see the October 19, 2019 post).

The northern beach of the tombolo is not named on the map. But after Elizabeth came here during a cruise on Hebridean Princess, it became known as the Queen’s Beach. I don’t know if the queen made the sands sing, but she may have taken a nap. For a map of the singing sands of the UK and Ireland, see the July 23, 2024 post (which I now need to update). 

After an hour-long snooze on the beach, I made it sing again as I started back to the road. After a brief visit to the north pier, which sits precariously on the shore, I noticed a waymarker for the ‘Northern Loop—Càrn Bàn’ path. Long ago, I’d read about Càrn Bàn, a once notable site of Neolithic tombs. I’d also read an old description of how to get there, a route that sounded difficult. But in the intervening years, a network of walkable and bikeable paths has been created on Gigha, and I was delighted to see that one of them went to the site. Next time we'll follow that tempting path to see what's left of the tombs of Càrn Bàn.

Four Winds Lookout Tower - Islay

I returned to Islay last month to spend the better part of a week. The highlight of the trip was the place where I stayed, the Four Winds Lookout Tower. It is a former coast guard facility that has been renovated into stunning, self-catering accommodation. Standing high above Pornahaven, at the tip of the Rinns of Islay peninsula, it has an expansive view overlooking the lighthouse island of Orsay and the far-off coast of Ireland. In the first photo, the tower is visible on the hill above Portnahaven.

The view from the top-floor bedroom was breathtaking. It was like being in the wheelhouse of a ship at sea. Centerstage was Orsay Island, home to the Rinns of Islay Lighthouse. Each day's end was marked at twilight, when the light started flashing every five seconds; flashes that continued until daybreak.

The ground floor has a fully equipped kitchen and a combined shower/toilet room, another echo of a ship at sea. 

The top-floor bedroom was reached by a near-vertical ladder, one that reminded me of the steep stairs down to the cabins on many of the ships I'd been on over the years.

Every night but one was a peaceful paradise. On the third night, I was woken by a loud banging on the door. Wondering what the hell was going on, I climbed down the ladder and looked out the door. I found myself face-to-face with a dozen sheep, their noses pressed up to the tower, who'd found a place to shelter from the wind.

Four Winds is truly unique, and I hope to return someday. Adding to the appeal, a friendly pub, An Tigh Seinnse, is a short walk away.

For more information on Four Winds, the website is: https://www.fourwindsislay.co.uk/

Private Roy Muncaster - R.I.P.

While on Islay last week, I made my way to Kilnaughton Military Cemetery, a mile west of Port Ellen. It's a small cemetery, with around a dozen tombstones. Many tourists pass by the cemetery without even knowing it's there, when they drive the hilly single track to the Mull of Oa. For, it is on the Mull that you'll find the American Monument: a sixty-foot-tall stone tower that commemorates the Otranto disaster off the shore of Kilchoman in 1918 and the sinking of the Troopship Tuscania by the UB-77 earlier that year. (For more on the Otranto, see the October 11, 2019 post.)

The Kilnaughton Military Cemetery lies above the beach, northeast of the burial ground that surrounds the fifteenth-century ruin of the chapel of St Nechtan. The only American still interred in the military cemetery is Roy Muncaster, a Private in the US Army, who perished when Tuscania was torpedoed. Before joining the Army, Muncaster had been a forest ranger in the Olympic Mountains of Washington State, where the 5,910-foot-high Muncaster Mountain, fifty miles west of my home in Seattle, is named for him. With the lone exception of Muncaster, all the American victims of the Otranto and Tuscania disasters were returned to the States or buried in the American Military Cemetery in Surrey. Muncaster’s parents wanted him to remain where he died, here on beautiful Islay.

Book Launch and More

The details for the launch of my next book, Thirty Years of Adventures in Search of the Past: Skye and the Small Isles, have been finalised. It will be held at the Portree Library on Thursday, August 20, at 6 pm. If you are on Skye at the time, I hope you can make it. The book tells the stories of three decades of journeys to Skye and its neighbours, including the Small Isles, Raasay, Rona, and the islands of Gavin Maxwell. An outline map of the contents can be found below.

On another note, I am happy to have been asked to supply an article for the first issue of the Islands Book Trust's relaunch of Scottish Islands Explorer. Once a publication date is known, I will pass it on.

Thirty Years of Adventures in Search of the Past: Skye & The Small Isles

I am happy to announce that Volume 2 of the Thirty Years of Adventures Series, Skye & the Small Isles, is to be published by the Islands Book Trust this summer. It will be the same format as Volume 1 (The Outer Hebrides) and will include a large selection of colour photos. A launch event in August is being planned, possibly in the Portree area. I will post an announcement once the details have been firmed up.

Scottish Islands Explorer - Start of Another Era

I've learned that Scottish Islands Explorer will live on, as the Islands Book Trust has acquired the rights to publish the magazine. It has yet to be decided, but it will probably be an annual or bi-annual publication. 

To quote from the latest Islands Book Trust Newsletter:

We became aware in late September 2025 that Scottish Islands Explorer, a high-quality magazine published six times a year carrying articles and wonderful photographs of Scottish islands, was ceasing production. The magazine has gone through several changes in ownership and location over the last quarter of a century, starting in Fair Isle (Shetland) and latterly run from Lewis under the auspices of Intermedia Services (Stornoway) Ltd. There have been close links between previous owners of SIE and IBT for many years. 

Following discussion with the previous owner, IBT has therefore decided to step into the breach by acquiring the right to continue publishing Scottish Islands Explorer, albeit in a radically different version from the previous format and business model. This is because we believe there is considerable synergy between the aims of SIE and those of IBT, and the interests of previous SIE subscribers and members of IBT. Like many others, we would be sad to see it cease altogether.

I am delighted that the magazine, which has meant so much to me over the past 20 years, will live on thanks to the Book Trust. Please consider joining the Trust - for more information on how to do so see the following link.

https://islandsbooktrust.org/pages/membership